We planted love, and lo it bred a brood Of lusts and vanities and senseless joys. We planted love, and you have gathered food Of every bitter herb which fills and cloys. Your meat is loud excitement and mad noise, Your wine the unblest ambition of command O'er hearts of men, of dotards, idiots, boys. These are the playthings fitted to your hand, These are your happiness. You weep no more, But I must weep. My Heaven has been defiled. My sin has found me out and smites me sore, And folly, justified of her own child, Rules all the empire where love reigned of yore, Folly red-cheeked but rotten to the core. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TOURNAMENT by SIDNEY LANIER SONGS OUT OF SORROW: REFUGE by SARA TEASDALE TIRED TIM by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?' by FRANCIS BRET HARTE SUDDEN LIGHT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI MAN AN' MOOSE by ROBERT ADAMSON (1832-) STOOD AT CLEAR by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |